synecdoche
by paper piper
Summary: we were all part of a whole. a messy, sad, angry whole, but an infinitely beautiful whole, too. -character sketches for the inner senshi


A/N: a little experiment. I really wanted to do some character sketches for the inner sailor scouts, and especially do some justice to the beautiful friendship these guys have :) And i think the show makes a little too light sometimes the loneliness they faced before they were together. so here you go! an angst/love sundae for your sunday!

A/N: i apologize in advance if the POV is a little strange. highly experimental piece here!

A/N: synecdoche is a literary term used to describe the parts of a whole. (for example, "all hands on deck." hands describe the sailors, not the actual hands.)

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**Synecdoche**

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/Ami/

People know my test scores before they know me.

I am a set of numbers on the bulletin board, the number 1 who beat the hopeful number 2, the glasses and moving pencil, the face forever turned down, down, to the notes and textbook in my hands. _Did you hear about the new Brain?_

And I thought I was safe.

I thought that I could rely solely on this—my intellect, my reason, on my knowledge. I figured that so much of me was already taken by this force that there could be nothing left, no emotions, no sentiment, no Beauty.

And since when was the Beauty of the story a thinker anyway? Princesses are always blonde and beautiful, all little giggles and smiles. And while I may giggle and smile as much as the next teenaged girl, no one can get past the book in front of my nose.

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/Rei/

I am not angry—I just have no time.

No time for silliness, for laziness, for friendships. I have my temple and my grandfather and my crows—they are my soul's home, and I bury my head in its hearth. I can settle myself in the fire and dream of the smoke.

Smoke: dreams of dancing on television, of parading myself before crowds of adoring fans—of having all the time in the world to prance and laugh and be adored! Adored above all! Because isn't that what I really want? To be adored?

To have men throw themselves at my feet and beg. Beg the girl they would not give two seconds on the street, _Please, my love_.

And I could finally smirk and say, _I have all the time in the world, but not for you_.

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/Lita/

Too much, and not enough.

I am too much, and not enough.

Too tall, too busty, too loud, too strong, too good at basketball and too good at wrestling. The boys, they laugh and tease: _You're just too much to be a girl! You're one of the guys_.

Not girly enough, not flirty enough, not small and petite and polite. The boys, they blanche and little and say: _Geez, aren't you a girl at all?_

And I'm green with envy, envy of the tiny little creatures that the boys traipse after, asking them out on dates and to movies, when I am the one they want to "hang with" on off-days, when they can't have the girl they want. _Didn't you know? Didn't you know that I'm here too? I'm fresh and full-bodied and red-blooded, and I want you. I want your attention, so bad._

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/Mina/

I have dreams of eyes.

Eyes everywhere, ravenous, judging, malicious eyes, eyes that tear inside and through you, eyes that eat you up and spit you out, eyes that murmur behind your back and kiss your feet when you're looking back at them.

I was raised a celebrity, and I have eyes on me always. I have "friends"—the ones who want to stand next to me on camera, but never want to wait with me while I change, while I wash my hands in the bathroom, while I try to make late-night dinner. I have "fans"—little girls with stars in their eyes and too much hope in a mortal, fleshy me; little girls who want a hero and receive another little girl.

I have eyes on me always, but I could not be more alone.

I have ceased to be human, and I am an image instead: a little girl in orange skirts with a mask over her face, a goddess for the crowds to worship, but never understand.

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Where are we going to find love?

And—and what if we're _broken_?

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She threw her skinny pale arms around us, and smiled.

And we were dreaming of a palace on the moon, of a place where the light is always soft, and the wind is always soft, and our gowns brush over marble floors. Where a pretty little blonde thing stands to welcome us with skinny, pale, open arms and a smile.

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Perhaps we owe it to that blonde twit, the pigtails and the grin—the one who clumsily brought us all together, crying over spilled iced cream and laughing at bad jokes.

Did we know, when we first laid eyes on her, that we were born to protect and love our princess as if she were our own child? As if her flesh was our flesh? Even though, even though she was so silly and irresponsible, did we know even then that there was something she was bringing for us, something to bond us together forever, _us versus everything else? _As if we were meant to be. As if there was something infinitely beautiful about each and every one of us!

All she had to do was say, _I love you_, and we were hers.

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And even though we didn't want to admit it, we knew it was true.

We need each other. Desperately and ecstatically—the way flowers need sunlight and soil and water and bees. Because what could grow from just one of us? What could we do without the other?

And we've done many things, haven't we? We've done it all, torn the earth from the clutches of pure evil, and banded together late in the evenings to study for finals. Seamlessly. Like it was the natural order of things.

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How is this? How does this happen?

When did we cease to be Ami, Rei, Lita, and Mina?—When did we become the Sailor Scouts, a perfect We?

What magic is this, that suddenly we all become so splendid? That we can look up, catch sight of the other, and think, _My, how wonderful? How glad I am to see you!_

This must be healing. This must be the beginning. This must be what empires rise toward, build toward, hope and pray for—for this communion of this spirits, for this moment, the moment when we can say, _We're together, and that's all that matters._

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_fin._

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A/N: eh? was it weird? i'm sorry. but **review** me and tell me if it was :)


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